Mike was bleeding too. His nose was broken, and it had sprayed blood all down the front of his body, soaking his face and winter gear.
Jett had fought back, and Harrison felt nothing but pride for the man he loved.
“I meant to kill you, but this is more fun, don’t you think?”
Harrison’s hands were shaking as he unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off. The less he had weighing him down, the better.
Mike was still so smug—so fucking confident. He grinned at Harrison, swinging the axe around threateningly, like this was all a game.
“I’ll kill you and then go back to Jetty. I’m not going to stop until you’re both dead. You ruined my life.”
Black spots danced in front of his eyes, but Harrison held himself steady. “You ruined your own life. You’re the only one responsible for your actions. And if you weren’t so fucking dumb, you’d realize that.”
His words were starting to slur. He didn’t have much time.
A silhouette hovered behind Mike—Luca. His brother was there, waiting for him. Harrison wasn’t afraid. There would be no pain, and he would see people he loved on the other side.
He was ready to die—and it would be so easy. All he had to do wasfall.
“You were always nothing,” he said quietly into the bitter air between them. “You were always going to be nothing. A pathetic piece of shit. A self-hating coward who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way. When you die, no one’s going to mourn you. Hell, they might even be relieved.”
Mike stepped forward, the ice groaning with the shift of weight. “Shut the fuck up.”
“They’ll all hate you,” Harrison went on, voice soft but razor-sharp. “They’ll hear your name and either laugh or gag.”
“Keeprunning your mouth, faggot.” Mike’s hands clenched around the axe as he swung it back. “The more you talk, the worse it’s going to hurt.”
But Harrison only smirked as death rushed to meet him.
The sharp crack of splitting ice echoed like a gunshot. The world lurched beneath them—and then the surface gave way.
Harrison didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on Mike’s as they fell, and he took a twisted sense of peace from the look of horror that overtook the other man’s face.
Then the water swallowed them both.
The shock was instant and brutal, and the water was cold like knives slicing through flesh. Reflex made Harrison’s hands shoot out. He didn’t even think—just grabbed wildly, catching the jagged edge of the ice before it could slip away.
He didn’t know why. He couldn’t explain it. Something deep and instinctual was screaming, not yet.
Not yet.
“If you’re not going to fight for yourself,”said Luca.“Then fight for Jett, because he’s waiting for you. He’s worth the effort, Harrison.”
Harrison’s body jolted as something yanked at his leg. Mike’s arms locked around him—desperate, frantic. He was still alive, still fighting, his limbs thrashing beneath the surface as he tried to claw his way back to air. But his gear was too heavy, and it was dragging him down like an anchor, the cold seizing his muscles.
He wasn’t going to make it, and they both knew it.
This wasn’t survival.
This was instinct.
This was panic.
This was his death throes—the final moment between living and dying.
Mike’s grip was fading, his frantic kicks growing weaker by the second. The final, hopeless spasms of a dying man.
But Harrison didn’t fight back.
